


Sun's Brightest At Dawn And Dusk

by SilverSkiesAtMidnight



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, And now Steve is too, Character Death, Explicit Language, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mild Gore, One Shot, Sick Steve, basically Bucky is the ghost haunting Steve's apartment, but hopefully it's good, but really it's okay they're just ghost buddies now, characters bonding over mutual deadness, i don't really know where this came from, so it's not REALLY sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 13:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11336496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverSkiesAtMidnight/pseuds/SilverSkiesAtMidnight
Summary: “It’s twice your size, Steve.”“So? I had it, my feet just went out from under me is all.”“Your feet went out from under you because you were trying to lift a cabinet twice your sizeby yourself.”“Is this what you do to every new dead guy? Let them know how dumb you think they are for dying?”“Actually, no one else has managed to die here till your punk ass moved in. Seventy years, and not one. You know why?Because no one else is dumb enough to pull this kind of shit, Steve.”“Oh, fuck off,” Steve muttered, “all that means is my luck ran out and theirs didn’t.”





	Sun's Brightest At Dawn And Dusk

**Author's Note:**

> Alright guys, this is a weird little experiment I ended up writing because it meant I had an excuse not to work on bigger projects. Lemme know what you think!

The soft, early morning light filtered down through the apartment’s little windows, casting the room in a palette of yellows and golds. The window, open several inches, let in a cool breeze that carried the sounds of the slowly awakening city, of traffic and early commuters. A group of exhilarated and still slightly drunk teens passed by on the sidewalk below, laughing the too-loud laughs of exhaustion, and the sound stirred dust motes into a lazy, celestial swirl in the sun’s bright light. They settled as the sound died out, slowly, hanging in the once again still air. Not a breath disturbed them. The light continued its steady crawl through the apartment, bringing the features of the small, fragile figure sprawled on the kitchen floor into sharp relief. His neck twisted awkwardly, eyes fixed directly on the sun, but he didn’t blink.

Beneath the slowly warming floorboards, the frustrated knocking that had sounded not ten minutes earlier had ceased, replaced by the quiet notes of a lullaby, as a haggard woman tiredly bounced her baby back to sleep in her arms. She entertained the thought of going upstairs to scold her neighbor for the racket, but the child had began to settle, and the room above was once again silent.

The source of the disturbance was a large cabinet. It now lay overturned and splintered behind the man on the floor. Had someone been standing in the room, their eyes would likely have skipped right over the second figure who rested on top of the broken cabinet, little more than a silvery wisp of sunlight glinting off one last breath. He slumped with his chin in his hand, staring forlornly at the prone shape beneath him.

But no one stood in the apartment, and no one heard the second man arrive. No one felt the sudden pressure, as though the apartment itself had drawn a breath and held it, and the light shifted to allow a second figure to take shape beside the first. The tall newcomer settled on the cabinet, looking down at the body as well. 

“That was _stupid_.”

“Thanks.”

“No, I mean it, what the fuck were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I couldn’t sleep, and it seemed like as good a time as any to put my new cabinet up.”

The second man shifted to stare in exasperation at the first.

“It’s twice your size, Steve.”

“So? I had it, my feet just went out from under me is all.”

“Your feet went out from under you because you were trying to lift a cabinet twice your size _by yourself_.”

“Is this what you do to every new dead guy? Let them know how dumb you think they are for dying?”

“Actually, no one else has managed to die here till your punk ass moved in. Seventy years, and not one. You know why? _Because no one else is dumb enough to pull this kind of shit, Steve._ ”

“Oh, fuck off,” Steve muttered, “all that means is my luck ran out and theirs didn’t.”

Bucky whirled on him in frustration, and to Steve’s surprise he looked almost _hurt_. “Why do you have to be so _fucking_ stubborn, huh? What, three years you’re here, on death’s door for half of it, and you get yourself killed for a stupid _cupboard_? What the hell is the matter with you? Do you know how many fucking nights I was afraid you were going to stop breathing? How many times it looked like some fever was finally going to just be _it_? I mean, Jesus, Steve, every time you left the building I was half-convinced you weren’t coming back, the number of times you came home all bruised and bloodied from God-knows-what. But no. No, you didn’t get yourself killed in some fight, you didn’t die from allergies or sickness, you died because you couldn’t pick up the _fucking_ phone and ask one of your friends to help nail a cabinet to the wall.”

Steve blinked, opened his mouth, and then closed it again. It was the first time Bucky had ever seen him speechless. 

Finally, he seemed to find his voice. “You have no _fucking_ right to be pissed at me right now. I don’t even know who you are, and you honestly have the nerve to be pissed at me for _dying wrong?_ You think I meant for this to happen? You think I decided suicide by falling off the kitchen counter was really just the _best_ way to go? This screwed up my day _way_ worse than it did yours, believe me.” He turned to glare at a startled Bucky, jabbed a finger into his chest, and hissed, “Now, either tell me who you are and what happens next, or _shut the fuck up and let me mourn for my goddamn self without lecturing me._ ”

He turned away from him again, and they sat in silence for several more minutes, Steve pointedly not looking at him. 

Bucky was the one to break the silence. “I’m James. James Barnes. You can call me Bucky.”

Steve said nothing, but Bucky saw him turn his head slightly, and knew he was listening. 

“I don’t really know what you want to know. I’m just another ghost, I guess. I died here, same as you. A long time ago.”

“How’d it happen?”

Bucky’s lips quirked up without humor, and he turned his head to look Steve straight in the eye. There was a shimmer, a haze, like a lens refocusing, and suddenly he could see the blood that matted the side of the other man’s head, outlining a drawn and pale face, the white shards of bone that peeked out from around the jagged hole in his skull. Steve shuddered, unable to keep the shock off his face, and reality refocused. He was once again looking at a slightly unshaven and tired looking brunette, in an outdated but well-kept suit. He was handsome, Steve thought, if a little sad. 

“Sorry. Not a fun sight, I know, but faster than trying to tell it.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said quietly. 

Bucky gave a half shrug. “S’fine. My dumbass is the one that went and pulled the trigger.”

He didn’t really know how to respond to that. 

“Why did you?” He blurted out, and instantly regretted it. “Sorry. You don’t actually have to tell me.” 

Bucky snorted. “Really, it’s fine. I’ve had nearly a century to come to terms with it, it’s okay.” He took a deep breath. “Short version is pretty simple. My name came up in the draft, and off I went. My unit ended up getting captured, I got some shitty memories as a souvenir, and when we got rescued and sent home, I don’t know,” he scrubbed his face into his hands. “Eventually I guess I just didn’t want to deal with this shit anymore.”

He grew quiet again, and Steve felt slightly guilty for making him share even that much. 

He bumped him gently with his shoulder. “I'm sorry,” he said quietly. “That's a lot to go through, I'm sorry it ended up like this.” 

Bucky said nothing, but bumped him gently back. 

Steve changed the subject, uncomfortable. “So you’ve been here a while, huh? What’s it like?”

Bucky shrugged again. “Not bad. Peaceful, if a bit boring. I don’t know if you can technically call it a life, but for lack of a better term, it’s a good life.”

A small crease formed on Steve’s brow. “Earlier...you talked like you know me. Have you just been...haunting my apartment?”

“No!” Bucky said defensively. Steve stared at him. “Well. Not just your apartment. The whole building.”

Steve stared at him harder. Bucky looked guilty. “It’s possible I spend more time here than any of the other apartments.”

“It’s not like I’ve been trying to spy on you or anything!” He tried to defend himself. “You’re just kind of nice to be around. And I like watching you draw,” he admitted in a quieter voice, looking away. “You’re really good. I saw some old sketches and paintings in a museum when I was alive. Yours look like they belong there too.”

“You...You’ve been watching me draw?” Steve stammered out. 

“I told you, you’re good at it. It’s kind of soothing to watch.”

“I’m going to choose to find that flattering instead of creepy, but only because we seem to be stuck here together from here on out.”

Bucky grinned slightly, but it faded quickly. He looked at the body on the floor, his mouth flattening to a thin line. “Shouldn't have happened like this, you know.” 

“Yeah, you mentioned.” The whole situation suddenly felt ridiculous, and he laughed suddenly. Bucky looked at him in surprise. 

Still laughing, he shook his head. “Doctors have been saying I was going to die since I was a little kid, and here I go, breaking my neck falling off a kitchen counter. Same as anyone else could've.” He looked up at Bucky. “Guess it's never what you expect, huh?”

A startled laugh burst from Bucky’s lips. “Yeah. Guess the universe likes its surprises.” 

The sun continued forward. Something had shifted subtly in the way time felt, and had it not been for the progress of the sun through the sky, neither of them could've said with any certainty how long they'd been there together. It felt as though the sound of Steve crashing to the ground still echoed in the room, and yet there was a mood of lazy comfort that had settled between them like a blanket, a feeling of comfortable eternity that was extremely present in the front of their minds, but somehow didn’t feel overwhelming.

“Did it ever get lonely?” Steve asked. “Being alone for so long here?”

Bucky looked at him for a long time. Finally, he replied. 

“I’m glad you don’t have to know the feeling.” 

Steve nodded slowly, considering. “I always thought of ghosts as awfully sad. Trapped wherever they died, no company but their own memories.”

Bucky’s voice sounded a slightly hoarse. “Could make anyone into a tragedy, if they’re stuck like that for long enough.”

Neither said anything else.

They settled into comfortable silence after that, watching and listening to the city shift and breathe around them. 

This time, Steve was the first to break it. “I wonder who's going to have to be the one to find me.” 

Bucky watched him carefully. He reached out, and cautiously slipped his hand into Steve’s, squeezing it gently. For a long moment, Steve didn't respond, and then he squeezed back. 

He looked at Bucky, and there was a kind of determination in his eyes. “This isn't a tragedy. _We_ aren’t, I swear. It’s just how things went, and while this is really not what I expected, I refuse to call it a bad thing.” 

He spoke with such _force_ , and Bucky couldn't even find it in himself to feel guilty for thinking that this strange little bundle of stubbornness and bad decision’s death may have been the best thing to ever happen to him. When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly steady. 

“Well, I don’t think we have to be sad, then.” _Not now. Not anymore_.

They turned back to the window, towards the afternoon’s orange light that made the city seem to burn, and they did not mourn.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so... I genuinely have no idea whether or not this was good? Like I keep trying to judge it and it's either total shit or pretty awesome or somewhere in between. So I am literally begging you, as someone who's trying to become at least a semi-decent writer: please comment. Did you like it, did you not like it, what could I have done better, all that jazz. Also: if anyone's got prompts I could definitely use the motivation to write(plus, ya know, you might get a fic out of it). Thank you!! Hope reading this was a good way to spend a few minutes:)


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